


The Morning After

by WhimsicalEthnographies



Series: The Greatest Game [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bit of Fluff, Frottage, John-pov kind of, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, New Relationship, Porn, Second Time, Shower Sex, bit of angst, bit of porn, john is john three continents watson, kind of ooc, post-HLV, sherlock doesn't know how to do a relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:19:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1975782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalEthnographies/pseuds/WhimsicalEthnographies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wakes up thrilled and Sherlock is scared of ruining everything.</p>
<p>Follow up to  <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1951785">It's You</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> Some porn. Not quite as porny as the last, but porny. Sherlock's still sore, after all and showers are slippery.
> 
> Kind of OoC, but I'll explain at the end if you get that far.

John wakes up alone in a bed that is not his, but for the first time in a long time, he is completely, utterly content.  Sunlight streams through the open curtains of Sherlock’s window.  John looks at the clock on the dresser.  9:48 AM.  Good thing he didn’t have to be at the surgery today.  He’s only been back part-time since Sherlock was shot.  John stretches and rolls over, pressing his face into the empty pillow.  It’s still slightly warm and smells like Sherlock.  As he relaxes back into the mattress for a moment, his belly settles in a cold, tacky spot on the linens. Rather than be annoyed, as he always would be, but this morning, John is delighted.

He would have been even more delighted if he’d woken with Sherlock still in the bed, but he knows Sherlock well enough to expect he wouldn’t be one to lay around in bed all morning. Sherlock is the laziest person he knows, but it’s a manic, antsy lazy, not a lounge-in-bed-with-your-lover-lazy.

John smiles to himself. _Lover_. Sherlock is now his lover. It’s a peculiar word to use with regards to Sherlock, embarrassing and cheesy and John loves it. He learned last night just how capable Sherlock is of passion, of losing himself. John had learned what it meant to really, truly sleep beside Sherlock. They had shared beds and lilos before—usually on a case—so he knew Sherlock’s basic sleep tendencies.   He already knew Sherlock slept like the dead when he actually slept, and usually John was out cold as well. But the new intimacy and close proximity had allowed John to truly observe this time around. _Oh, how Sherlock would love hearing that_.

John had spent most of the night drifting in and out of a light slumber, torn between needing rest, practically vibrating with excitement and arousal, and a desire to see all he could now that he was allowed so close to Sherlock. He learned that Sherlock is a cuddler; he wrapped himself completely around John and yet someone still managed to take up most of the bed. John learned that Sherlock slept with his mouth open when he was on his side, closed when on his back. That his feet turn ice cold when he sleeps, and that every once in a while during a REM cycle he jerks, snorts, then settles back down. (John makes a note to have him checked for mild apnea.) By the time John had finally settled into a deeper sleep, Sherlock hadn’t awoken once, his head in the crook of John’s neck.

It had been quite nice.

John laughs to himself and pushes back the covers. “Finally!” He fist pumps the air in self-congratulations and hops out of bed. This isn’t conquest. John would never consider anything he embarked on with Sherlock as a capture. This was finally taking hold of his absolute best friend’s hand and saying, “come on, let’s go. There’s so much more to see.”

The shower is running and John saunters into the loo. Perhaps Sherlock would be up for some shower sex. John’s a doctor, he’s not an idiot and he knows it’ll be too soon for penetration again, but that’s hardly all there is to do. He’d always wondered about Sherlock’s libido in general, but after his receptiveness last night John has a feeling he’ll have no problem keeping up. He whistles while he pees and bounces on his toes as he brushes his teeth, expecting Sherlock to peek around the curtain and invite him in. So far he’s been silent.

Although maybe John shouldn’t be surprised; Sherlock sometimes ignores him for days. Frankly, he’d be a little shocked and disappointed if anything in the other aspects of their relationship changed. Then it wouldn’t be them.

John flicks out his toothbrush and eyes himself in the mirror. There are faint teeth marks and bruises on his neck and shoulders, and his stomach and pubic hair are caked with dried semen. John laughs again. He’d give himself a high-five if he could. He practically skips over to the tub and pulls the shower curtain open to step inside.

If John thought Sherlock was beautiful dry, he’d had no idea how gorgeous he’s be standing under a spray of water. He’s facing the water, eyes closed, head up and back, and wet curls matted to his head. Rivulets of water are running down his sharp cheekbones and neck. John wants to lick them off him. The scars are his back are ugly and sharp but somehow only enhance his ethereal beauty. Sometime John will spend an entire day kissing them. Sherlock likes the water particularly hot and steam is puffing up around him. He feels a rush of blood to his groin at the site. Time to turn on The John “Three Continents” Morning After Charm.

“’Morning,” he nuzzles up behind Sherlock, pressing his nose into his shoulder and wrapping one sturdy arm around that lithe waist.

But to John’s surprise, Sherlock jumps.

“John!” He turns sharply, eyes wide. He looks shocked, or confused, or even a little sad. He takes a step to the side, instinctively moving out of John’s grasp. John is frankly taken aback. He reaches for Sherlock’s hand. He doesn’t pull away, but his grasp doesn’t tighten, either. Odd.

“Hey. Good morning to you, too.” John squeezes a little bit. “Thought I’d join you?”

“Is-is that what happens?” Sherlock’s eyes shift down and catch sight of John’s partial erection. He swallows.

“Sometimes. Is that alright?”

“Mmmm, yes, I suppose.” Sherlock’s mouth tightens into a line. He doesn’t move.

“Sherlock, if you don’t want to share a shower, that’s alright.” John chuckles. “Just say so. I thought it’d be fun!” He shrugs, attempting to be light-hearted. This is new territory, but Sherlock is John’s best friend and he knows him better than anyone. He knows enough to recognize that something is off, despite Sherlock’s low opinion of his observational abilities.

“No, no, it’s alright.” Sherlock turns his back and reaches for his over-priced shower gel. John frowns.

“Sherlock, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, John. I’m showering.”

“Yes, I see that, and I’m attempting to shower with you but you seem to want none of it,” John’s eyes widen. “Oh, Jesus, did I hurt you? Shit! Let me check…” John makes a bee-line for Sherlock’s backside, unceremoniously grabbing each white buttock and spreading to have a look.

“JOHN!” Sherlock jumps and almost loses his balance on the wet tub floor. “What are you doing?!”

“Sherlock, if you’re in pain you have to tell me…I AM a doctor. You could have anal fissures!”

“John, don’t be ridiculous. I don’t have any…’fissures.’ You didn’t hurt me.”

“Then why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, yeah?”

“Nothing’s wrong, John.” Sherlock pointedly squeezes some gel into a flannel and proceeds to soap up his arms and chest.

“Something’s wrong, Sherlock. We spent last night with your dick in my mouth and my cock up your arse, then you jump three feet when I put my arm around your waist. Despite what you continuously claim, I am in fact NOT an idiot.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“Then,” John reaches for the soapy flannel, “let me get your backside and then I’ll wash your hair.”

“John, I am perfectly capable of washing myself.”

“I know you are. But I thought we would both quite enjoy it.”

“Yes, we will.” Sherlock suddenly looks John directly in the face, for the first time. “You’ll enjoy it now and I’ll enjoy it too much and then what?”

“Then we’ll dry off and have breakfast and do what we always do?” John is thoroughly confused.

“I won’t change, John.” Sherlock’s face falls a bit. “I don’t think I can.”

“Wait, what? When did I ask you to?”

“It’s just, John…what was that? Last night? What are you expecting from me? What if we aren’t expecting the same thing?”

“Sherlock, last night was pretty bloody amazing, if I can say so!”

“Yes, it was.” Sherlock snatches the flannel back. “And the fact is is that you know I’m not good at this, you know I’ve never done this, this is completely unknown territory for me, I don’t have ANY data to fall back on, no working hypotheses, frankly, and never cared to have any—”

“For fuck’s sake, Sherlock, it’s not a bloody experiment!”

“Then what IS it, John?”

“Well,” John squares his shoulders. “For me it was enjoying something new with my best friend, who honestly, I’ve been head over heels with for years. It was something I denied for a long time and then I stopped denying it, and I’ve woken up happier than I’ve ever been and would really like to continue doing it.”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock closes his eyes, takes a moment before he speaks again, and John is eternally grateful the hot water in 221B is something that has never failed them. “I don’t know if I could do that…be best friends who have sex occasionally. I don’t think I can…it wouldn’t be enough.”

“Well, I was rather hoping we’d be more than ‘best friends who have sex occasionally,’ Sherlock. Jesus Christ, I’m fucking in love with you, you tit.”

“And I don’t know if I could do enough to be deserving of that, John. You know how I am and you’re the best person I know and you’ll get tired of me and…and if this didn’t work,” Sherlock looks at his feet. “I can’t lose my best friend, John. You’re everything.”

“And that, Sherlock,” John places a hand on his wet shoulder. “Is why I have absolutely no doubt this will work. Hey, look at me.” He turns Sherlock to face him, lifts up his chin. “I know who you are, I know how insufferable and crazy and idiotic you are. I know what an arsehole you can be, I know how thoughtless and rude and cold you can be. And I also know how wonderful and good you can be.   I don’t want you to change. I’m not going to change.” John lifts his head and kisses Sherlock’s chin. “It’s just now…well, won’t it be easier?”

“I can’t lose you, John. I’d rather have it be hard and you still here than ruin everything and have you leave. Not after…everything…”

“I won’t.” John grips the side of Sherlock’s head and pulls his forehead down so they’re leaning. “We’ll learn as we go, yeah? But I’m not leaving.”

“I couldn’t bear to be alone again, John. Not from you…”

“You think I want that either?”

“What if—”

“Nope, Sherlock. No ‘what ifs.’ Tell you what, we decide right now if we want to keep doing this. I do, I’m telling you flat-out that I do. But if you don’t, we’ll pretend this never happened and go back to just being best friends and flatmates. You can delete it and I’ll just, well, I’ll be very not happy but I’ll make do. Because I won’t lose you either, not over this. So we decide here and now. Either we’re both in or we forget it.”

“I hardly think I could delete last night, John.” Sherlock scoffs, but his lips quirk in a little smile.

“Good.”

“You’ll tell me if I do it wrong?”

“Christ, Sherlock, have I ever not?” John squeezes his neck with both hands. “Come on, baby…’just the two of us, against the rest of the world?’” He teases.

“’Baby?’” Sherlock lifts one eyebrow.

“Yeah, that one was weird.” John chuckles, scrunches his nose. “We can negotiate pet names. Let’s start with no ‘baby.’”

“Alright.” He lifts one large hand and gently prods at the scar on John’s shoulder. “Just us, always?” He murmurs quietly.

“Mmmm…if you want it.”

Sherlock looks up through his wet eyelashes. “Ok.” His mouth quirks slightly, that special smile that is for John and John alone. John responds with a bright smile and a hearty laugh.

“Alright, enough of this. Turn around so we can wash before the water goes cold.” He grabs the flannel from Sherlock’s hands and re-soaps it, spinning him around. John starts soaping up Sherlock’s long back, his fingers gently caressing the scars as he goes. His brow furrows momentarily, but he relaxes when Sherlock arches back into his touch, reaching out to steady himself on the wet tiled wall. “Easier, eh, when someone else does it?” John reaches his white buttocks, soaping and kneading the flesh gently. “Really, I have no idea how this is possible. All the food I force you to eat must go straight to your arse.”

“Hurry up John! I want to do you, next.”

“Yes, yes, I’m going,” John soaps his hand and reaches between Sherlock’s thighs, eliciting a rumble from his throat as his gently rubs his perineum, then back up through his gluteal cleft. Sherlock hisses and jumps slightly as John’s fingers gently run over his anus.

“John!”

“Oh, Jesus.” He throws the flannel on the rack and grabs Sherlock’s bony hips. “Alright, I’m checking. As your doctor.”

“Jooohnnn.”

“Shut up, you git. Bend over slightly, spread your legs a bit. Yeah, like that.” Sherlock grumbles but does as John asks. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I’m not embarrassed, John,” Sherlock tenses as John gently spreads his buttocks, examines him. He looks for a moment, then stands up and wraps his arm around his wet torso, plants a kiss on the bullet exit wound now adorning his shoulder.

“You’re fine.” John gives his bum a pinch and Sherlock yelps. “A bit red and sore, but no tears. I daresay you’ll live.”

“Mmmm…” Sherlock turns in John’s arms and grabs the flannel, pours more soap in and suds it up. “Pity.” He rubs down John’s arms and chest, wraps one gangly arm around to soap up his back.

“What’s a pity?”

“Well,” Sherlock’s voice drops an octave. “I don’t think I like being sore.” His soapy hand comes down and covers John’s penis, which has flagged during their discussion. It immediately jumps back to life as Sherlock tugs a bit on his foreskin. John’s breath catches in his throat and he growls.

“You know, there are other things we can do.” John looks down Sherlock’s front, sees his cock has started to grow as well.

“Yes, you said last night,” Sherlock gives a firm stroke, and reaches his other hand down to cup John’s scrotum.

“I don’t know if we have the skill set for that yet, in the shower,” John’s eyes roll back as he reaches out to fondle Sherlock’s erection in turn. Sherlock groans and squeezes tighter, almost a bit too tight.

“Fuck, Sherlock, get down here,” John’s free hand comes up and grabs Sherlock’s wet hair, pulls his head down into a kiss. There’s none of the trepidation of last night, no hesitancy. Sherlock’s mouth opens immediately and his tongue is there to great John’s as it sweeps into his mouth. He tastes like toothpaste and a cigarette and John feels lightheaded. Part of him still can’t believe this, that he’s standing naked in a shower with Sherlock, jerking of Sherlock while Sherlock jerks off him, that he’s finally allowed to do this. If Sherlock even feels a fraction of the contentment and excitement that John is feeling, he’ll be pleased.

“Come here,” he groans, words muffled around Sherlock’s tongue, and pushes him flush against the tile wall. “Bend your knees a bit.” Sherlock complies and sinks a bit, and John steps between his legs and lines both their cocks up. Neither of them is particular small, Sherlock longer and John slightly thicker, but Sherlock’s long fingers have no problem wrapping around both of them.

“John!” Sherlock gasps as John’s hand squeezes on top of his, and he actively starts fucking up into Sherlock’s fist, their cocks sliding together gloriously through the soap.

“How about this?” John’s teeth find Sherlock’s earlobe, biting down gently and sucking.

“Y-yes,” Sherlock’s forehead presses into John’s shoulder and he bucks too, his other hand grabbing onto John’s arse to anchor himself. It’s incredible and surreal, erections sliding together, balls pressing as they grind. John can feel every one of Sherlock’s back muscles contract and release as he moves.

“Fuck, Sherlock…heh, this isn’t going to take long…”

“No,” Sherlock chokes, pushes his hips faster, harder.

“Then come for me…you first,” John squeezes over his hand tighter, lowers his mouth and sinks his teeth into Sherlock’s white shoulder. He stiffens suddenly, and John feels his cock jump against his.

“Johnnn…” Sherlock’s abdominal muscles contract against John’s and his semen catches them both in the chest. It’s too much for John, holding this beautiful, intolerable man as he climaxes, and he soon follows suit.

“Fuck, Sherlock!” He shudders as Sherlock continues to squeeze them together through his orgasm, wringing fluid out of him, and then John’s legs buckle and he collapses against him. Somehow Sherlock managers to catch him and guide them both gracefully down to the floor of the tub, as graceful as two spent men can be. His knees rise up and his calves wrap around John’s hips as their foreheads come together. Sherlock’s trying to catch his breath, eyes closed, lips swollen and red from the assault of John’s mouth. “Holy fuck, Sherlock.”

“You said…you said that last night, John.”

“Well, if this keeps up, I’m gonna keep saying it.” John laughs, reaching up to squeeze Sherlock’s neck. That’s not something new, John has always done that, but it strikes him that he doesn’t have to find an excuse to do it anymore. He just can. “You know, I had a dream where we did this once.”

“You did?” Sherlock’s head falls back against the wall with a light *clunk*. “In the shower?”

“No, actually, you were a pirate.”

“Hmmm.” Sherlock chuckles, takes a deeper breath. John can feel his heart rate starting to slow. He opens his eyes and looks directly at John’s face. “I dreamt about you, too, you know.”

John doesn’t respond, but just smiles and leans in for a gentle kiss. Above them the water starts to grow cold, but they don’t notice for a long while.

**Author's Note:**

> So! The two idiots talk about their feelings. Weird right? So OoC. My head-canon is that once they embark on a relationship, they kind of open up a little more. Not too much, but they do. 
> 
> And the place where they usually let themselves open up is when their in the shower. I dunno, I can't explain it. But that's what I like to think.
> 
> Next stories will get a bit more case-y and angsty and Moriarty-y.


End file.
